


Pluto

by Zeryx



Series: Pluto-Charon System [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Demon Dean, Heavy Angst, Hurt Sam Winchester, Incest, M/M, Non-Consensual Bondage, Psychological Torture, Rape, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-31
Updated: 2015-07-31
Packaged: 2018-04-12 05:56:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4467938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zeryx/pseuds/Zeryx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam just doesn't get it; Dean doesn't want to be saved. Canon divergent from "Soul Survivor", S10E03 .</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pluto

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to [ hit_the_books ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/hit_the_books/pseuds/hit_the_books)and [Neon](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Labracadabrador/pseuds/Neon) for helping me beta this.

  "Sam! Sammy!" Dean calls from around the corner, and Sam is in a cold sweat.  
He'd wanted so badly for his brother to just get better. He knew Dean could fight this thing.  
He _had_ fought this thing.... but that was back before Metatron stabbed him, back before weeks with Crowley.  
Sam'd been so sure; just a couple weeks away from outside influences, and Dean would come back to himself.  
They know how to cure demons, after all.

  Sam's been chased into a corner, and he needs to steel himself against the possibility that he'll have to hurt Dean to restrain him again. A loud **bang bang bang** accompanies the sound of brick crumbling. "Come out, Sam.... you're just making this harder on yourself." Dean's voice is low, sardonic. He can hear a soft _thwock_ , no doubt Dean tapping the head of the hammer on his palm.

  Sam slowly blows a breath out through his nose, and lunges around the corner, tackling Dean and wresting the hammer out of his grip. Dean's all knees, elbows, and snarls, fighting him like an angry cat in a sack. They end up on the floor, wrestling. As useless as it is, Sam's arm in a sling is over Dean's shoulder, holding him in place.  
"Dean, stop. **Stop**. This isn't you. This isn't you man. You can **fight this**. You fought it before. I believe in you!"  
Dean takes a deep, shuddering breath, and sighs, relaxing underneath him. Sam hears the conspicuous heavy blink that indicates he'll find his brother's eyes free of black. "Dean?"

  "Yeah. I... _Sam_. I'm so tired of fighting. I just want to not care anymore... please. I'm so sick of feeling guilty." His big brother whimpers, and it twists something inside Sam's gut.

  Sam backs up a little, loosens his hold. "I'm sorry, Dean.... I know, ever since we stopped the apocalypse, things have really just kept being well...shit. But we've got each-other. We've got Cas. Even though we've lost so many, it's still team free will against the world, right?" Sam smiles, presses his forehead to Dean's.

 "Yeah." He can hear Dean swallowing, and hopes desperately that he isn't crying.  
"Sammy, I...." Dean's legs are still locked with Sam's, he's still pinned in place, but his hands are coming up, cupping both sides of his little brother's face. "Ever since we were kids... I've always..."

"Shh, Dean. You don't have to say it."

 Dean takes another deep breath, shudders. "Yeah, I do." his hands slide down to Sam's shoulders, the mark of Cain standing out in stark relief on his arm. He pushes Sam up a little so he can look into his eyes.  
"I've always known," his hands slide up Sam's neck and rest there.  
"That you're a dumb bitch." His hands tighten on Sam's throat, cutting off his air as his eyes flick back to black, an evil grin splitting his face. Sam struggles, tries to bring his good arm up under Dean's hands to break the hold, but his brother is just plain stronger now. Inhumanly strong. His wrapped arm is trapped uselessly between them as Sam tries to shove Dean away. Dean curls his knees, and Sam can't get away, can't buck him off, and he grows light-headed fast. Everything is muted and grey, before blackness swallows him whole.

 

***

 

  When Sam comes to, it's with a shiver and pain in his wrists, arms, and throat.  A flash of movement catches his attention, and he realizes there's a huge mirror set up in front of him, about ten feet away. Surrounding him are the three featureless grey walls of the dungeon, and the covered gate thick with shadow. The gloom is only relieved by the red stain of the emergency lighting. The gigantic devil's trap and sigils look black like old blood in the dim light. The smell of sweat and blood is rank in the stale air.  
He's completely naked, on his knees, his hands cuffed together and strung on a heavy chain he knows not even the strongest demon can break. He can't dislocate his thumb to get out of the cuffs, there's no slack. His fucked up elbow is screaming at him, tormented from being stretched, without the sling to carry the weight.

  Sam's knees _hurt,_ and he has no idea how long he's been out, kneeling on the hard concrete of the floor. There's some kind of pressure on his thighs, and he can't completely figure it out at first, but as he flexes, it clicks. He can't shut his thighs. It's a spreader bar. His ankles are cuffed and attached to a chain inset to the floor, too. A surge of adrenaline rocks through him, and though his hair was already standing on end from the cold, he can feel it keenly now.

  He flashes back to catching Dean's look, full of dark humour in the rearview mirror of the Impala. Sitting in the squalor of their family heirloom. "That was the worst thing I could've done to him. And what I'm gonna' do to you, Sammy? Well, that ain't gonna' be mercy, either."

  Dean wouldn't.... this couldn't. It couldn't be what it looked like. Sam struggles, but there's not much he can do. A slow _clap clap clap_ sounds behind him.

  "Welcome back to the land of the living, darlin'." Dean saunters into the mirror's frame, loose-limbed and casual like he and Sam are just unwinding after a case with a couple beers. He's dyed red by the light, features stark and amused in the heavy shadow. His hand comes to rest on the crown of Sam's head. "Lookin' good, baby bro. Right where I want you."

  Sam frowns, tries to squirm his head out from under Dean's palm. He glowers up at the mirror into black eyes featureless and void as a new moon. "Dean, what the hell is this?" He's slightly croaky from being strangled.

  Dean smirks. "What the hell, yeah. That's the whole frigging point, Sammy!" Dean snaps, grabbing a huge fistful of Sam's hair and jerking his head back, exposing his throat. He crouches down and leans in, "I am going to drive home to you..." Dean wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, "Just exactly the situation you're in. With my body. Because you are apparently," Dean spits, "too dumb to understand any other way." His teeth rasp over Sam's adam's apple, sharp points dragging across as he swallows.

  Sam's tongue is thick in his throat; mouth dry.  He looks away as Dean's hands grasp the bottom of his own shirt.  
The soft rustle of fabric reminds Sam of Kermit, Texas. Cleaning the ceiling lamps, removing the opaque shades and hearing dessicated wings; seeing dried out husks of dead moths slowly drifting to the floor. Numb, he can't quite believe this is happening. Even if Dean really has gone dark-side, there's no way he can get an erection from looking at Sam, right? After all that consecrated blood, isn't he mostly human now? He was able to walk right through the devil's trap.

 Sam drags his eyes back, sees the mark of Cain standing out lividly against the flex of muscle while Dean unbuttons his jeans. That damn mark.... how much of it is this, how much is the demon blood, how much is his brother? Sam has no way to know. He drops his gaze.

  The sound of the teeth of the zipper ripping apart as Dean undoes his fly makes Sam's stomach roll.  After hearing the slide and shuffle of fabric across the floor, Dean's left hand is sliding over Sam's hip, cold and dry. He shudders and skitters like a colt, trying to slide Dean's hand off. Dean swats his ass, a huge noisy slap that burns in its wake. "There's nothing you can do here, Sammy, except take it like the big fucking girl you are." It jolts his arm and it takes his breath for a beat. His knees scrape on the hard concrete floor with the movement, already becoming abraded.

 "No, Dean, you don't have to do this...." Sam finds his voice, strained and quiet, looks up at his brother. Dean's reflected smile is dark, mocking. He swears if his eyes were normal, it'd be that too familiar expression of self-loathing on his brother's face. He clamps his hand back over the curve of Sam's hip-bone; between that, the chains, and the spreader bar, there is no room to struggle. Dean spits noisily and enthusiastically all over his right hand. When Sam tracks it, he wraps his hand down around his erection, an angry and dark red jutting up starkly with no hair surrounding it and his balls.

 "Oh, but I want to..." he croons, dropping down to his knees. Sam tries to clench his legs shut, but the stupid spreader bar does its job, he can't close his legs. He feels a wad of spit hit him, drip down his ass-crack. Sam squirms around as the familiar pad of a calloused thumb rubs into him, touches his most private area, saliva mixing the sweat there. It feels horrible, invasive; but it also feels good, and the tangle of emotions has stolen his tongue. He's covered in cold sweat. The smell of Dean's musk: cheap beer, leather, and gun oil is filling his nose with a familiarity that makes Sam ache deep in his bones.

 He hears Dean spitting again, feels the blunt heat of him as he presses his dick to Sam's hole. "Dean.... Dean no..."

 "That's right. Not Dean. Your big brother would never do this." Dean's dick pushes at his sphincter, a  slide of pressure slow, inexorable. Sam bites down on his lip tasting blood as the cock-head plows past the ring of muscle, tearing it. A cry rips through him and jerks his shoulders, and that hurts too, but it's distant compared to the immediacy of his asshole being split open.

 "Dean, stop! Stop! You don't have to do this!" Sam croaks pathetically. Dean slides further into him, groans with pleasure.

 "No," Dean growls. "I have to. I have to show you what I am now. Because you're too fucking dumb to get the message!" A few slow slides, and then Dean's hips are pounding into him brutally. Rocking Sam with each thrust, both hands iron clamps on Sam's hips. Sam can barely breathe; his knees become slick with blood and the pain from his messed up arm howls in concert with the rhythm.

 Sam wheezes, his throat raw from pain, "Dean, _Dean_... I know you're still in there..."

 Dean's laugh is harsh and ragged, the edges nearly as jagged as the tears his dick has made, is making, in Sam's insides.  
"No.... sodomizing your little brother? Doesn't get much lower than that....Sammy." Dean snarls his name, drawing out the s, a mocking sing-song at the end. "You've earned this. Wouldn't take no for an answer. Well here's your answer, dumb-ass."

 It's starting to hurt a little less, the blood from the tear is lubricating things, and after a few more strokes Dean is able to slide all the way in. He pauses and grunts, balls-deep in his baby brother.   
"You like that, Samantha? You like a demon tearing your ass open? Like being split around something wearing your big brother's face? Knowing these hands..."  
He jerks Sam to him cruelly, in marks that'll bruise, fingernails digging in bloody crescents along his hip-bones "That've carried you from a burning house, held you in your crib every night after your mom died, patched you up a million times, held you in a church, wrestled you, messed up your stupid long girly hair.... are the ones doing this to you?"

 His brother pumps his hips, and the horrible red-hot spear of pain is back; his balls slap, punctuating each remark as he fucks Sam. Dean, or at least the thing that looks like him, bends low over Sam, whispers in his ear. "Your brother's never coming back. I _like_ Dean 2.0. Get the fucking memo." His tongue slimes a trail along the back of Sam's ear, down his neck. Pinpricks of pressure relentlessly press in, deeper and deeper until a bright flash of pain makes him shout, and then his warm lifeblood is streaming over his shoulder as he struggles in his bonds. Adrenaline and pain create a brutal feed- back loop that has Sam squirming despite the pain it causes his arm. His knees burn, wet and raw scraped flesh.

 "No one is coming to save you, Sam. No one. Because of all that time you spent shoving people aside for your poor, pathetic, co-dependent big brother who literally went to hell for your worthless tainted meat. This is all there is..." Dean's hand is on Sam's dick now. Dean stills inside of him; the pain a slow burn like whiskey sliding down his throat. Dean's wrong. There is still Castiel. _Please Cas,_ he prays. _Please, get here soon_. 

 Sam's dick starts responding to the sure, callused hands on him. Like, yet unlike his own. Some of the movements are similar to how he touches himself. His big brother had given him some tips, stuttering and red-faced as a kid, because he hated the water getting cold in the shower and wanted it over with faster. Sam's been tasting bile for awhile now, and he screws his eyes shut, squeezing a couple tears out. It feels good, and just that little bit familiar. It's the cruelest thing Dean could've done, making him enjoy it.

 "Nuh-uh-uh...." Those black eyes, in the mirror above his own, mock him.  
"Eyes open, Sammy. You need to see what I'm doing to you. Exactly what I'm doing to you." Dean takes a huge handful of Sam's hair and yanks it back until his eyes open.

 "Because if you don't? This gets a whole lot worse for you and a whole lot more fun for me. I was the star pupil of hell's best torturer for ten years, Sammy. Ten fucking years. You don't know me. What I'm capable of. So you keep those big puppy-dog eyes on the prize, and you look at what I'm doing to you." Sam feels a small spark of hope. Dean is in there. Dean doesn't want to hurt him, he wants to drive him away.

 His dick isn't responding in earnest to Dean. It's half-hard, and the spark of hope in his chest is like a single candle lit in a mausoleum, guttering in a draft. He keeps his eyes on Dean's reflection. He can't tip him off that the cavalry is coming.

 "Good. Good boy." Sam can see Dean's other hand wrapped around his dick, and it's so wrong, God it's so fucking wrong. The two of them together, lit red and conjoined; an obscene parody of the womb in the mirror's wrought-iron frame. His brother's arms are holding him in place, one over his hip, the other pressed into his back. Half the weight of his body is being suspended by the rope his cuffs are tied to. His bad arm is screaming, tingling and burning. He jerks reflexively anyway, the oppressive black of Dean's stare washing over him like a midnight tide.

 Into a bleak silence broken only by the slap of flesh and harsh panting, Sam whispers: "Dean... please Dean. I know this isn't you."

 "Oh, so you're _finally_ getting it. That's nice." Dean makes a "not bad" face and then snaps his hips into Sam again, fucking him brutally, like a dog. He tugs a little more on Sam's hair, settles his fingers closer to his scalp. This partially anchors Sam as his body is mercilessly bounced around, knees sliding slightly in the small pool of blood forming beneath them.

 "Tell you what, sweetheart? How about we get this party really started. Here's something ol' Righteous Man Dean could never do for you...." Dean's lips twist in an especially cruel smile, and he bites a huge chunk out of his own wrist, spits it out like bubblegum. A flash-flood of red spurts out. A smell like copper and smoke explodes across Sam's nose as Dean brings his wrist to Sam's face.  
"Here you go, Sammy.... grade A demon blood, straight from a knight of Hell. If that doesn't get you going, I don't know what will." He smears his wrist across Sam's mouth. After the trials, the scent has no hold over him. Sam burps loudly, his stomach moving like an animal is trapped inside. Then he's puking, a thin watery stream of bile hitting the concrete.

 Dean scowls. "Son of a bitch! Dammit, Sammy, take your freakin' viagra." He lets go of Sam's hair, pinches his nose closed. Holds his wrist at Sam's mouth until Sam is forced to breathe. He nearly chokes on the flood of hot copper, gulping in air. He tries to spit it out, and his mouth tingles like he just ate some really hot chili peppers. There's a pleasant ache that hits the back of his jaw like the first bite of really dark chocolate. A rush of warmth and heat like hot coffee in the dead of winter. An effervescent metallic tang like canned coke on a hot summer day. It soothes his sore throat. Sam licks his lips, and Dean lets go of his nose. He attacks Dean's wrist, licking and sucking like he's eating out a girl, and the thing that used to be his brother chuckles darkly.

 "There you go. Good boy. Once an addict, always an addict, eh?" Sam's too used to associating demon blood with Ruby, and yeah, his dick's turned bright red, weeping slightly at the tip. He's so hard it feels like he could come this very goddamn second.

 Dean fucks him slowly, casually; continues jacking his dick languidly. "Gonna' draw this out, make sure you really enjoy it.... You'll be begging to come all over your big brother's dick before I'm through with you. Oh and FYI? Don't even try any of your mojo crap on me. No telling what might rush in to fill the void if ol' donkey-jaw over there lets you evict me."

 " _Dean_." Sam gasps, helplessly, completely lost. He wants to shut his eyes, but he can't. He settles for going away inside, and he doesn't want to taint any of his happier memories by reliving this moment. He just thinks of that year while Dean was in purgatory; of his dog Riot.

 He'd come back to his room after making the rounds at work, and the dog'd be sitting there on his bed. He'd get to his feet and bark hello, tail wagging, when Sam would open the door to the motel room. Riot had waited for him. He was always happy to see Sam. Riot missed Sam's scent and curled up around it when Sam wasn't there. He'd hit the dog with a car and it had still loved him. Riot is gone now, left behind with Amelia. Sam's lips are moving automatically, milking the gaping wound Dean made in his forearm, keeping it open as it starts to close. The blood makes him feel strong, confident, as always. The high creeps along his veins, drowning out the pain as he laps it up. Sam will not leave Dean again.

 "Dean. You're my brother. I love you. Whatever it is you feel you've done, past or present, it's ok. Nothing's ever going to change that." Dean blinks in the mirror's reflection, and Sam catches a flash of murky green. The familiar colour of silty river peeks out from the demon's mask as his jaw drops.

 Dean's eyes turn back to black, and his mouth works soundlessly. "I am giving you a gift. And you **spit** in my face!" His hips pump ruthlessly, and his hand on Sam's dick is in a vise-grip at the base. Sam gasps, feels Dean pulsing, and the slight change of temperature as his brother's come floods him.

 "Guess what, dickwad? Christmas has come early, 'cause I'm giving you the gift of blue balls. You fucking disgust me." Dean withdraws, spits on Sam. He punches the mirror, spider-webbing the glass. It wobbles on its axis before falling to the floor with a tremendous crash. Bright flashes of silver bounce the crimson light everywhere, a million shards now pieces and copies of the devil's trap forming scree around Sam. The frame rests on top; a twisted meaningless square of baroque shapes without reference.

 Dean ignores his clothes like shed snake-skin and leaves him there. Cold, alone, naked. Blood and ejaculate slowly leaking out of his ass. Covered in sweat. Dean's blood drying around his mouth. His own blood tacky on his shoulder and tepid beneath his knees.  
He doesn't know what to think. Cas will probably be back and find him soon, and it doesn't escape his notice that Dean didn't mention the angel once this entire time. It was a lie that they'd pushed everyone away. Just like it was a lie that Dean couldn't be saved.


End file.
